


of woven fates

by wickedbad



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Eivor has a crush, F/F, Pre-Canon, Rated T just for minor descriptions of violence, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29009460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedbad/pseuds/wickedbad
Summary: "Eivor longed for the words that dripped from her tongue to be reserved for her, that Randvi would whisper unto her in the late hours of the night that their fates had been weaved long ago — that it had always been meant to be the two of them together in the end."— Eivor has feelings for Randvi, and a bit of a guilty conscience because of it.
Relationships: Eivor/Randvi (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! thank you for checking out my fic, this is my first time writing for assassin's creed so i hope it went ok!! but yeah i've been playing this game since launch so i've forgotten some of the stuff that happened in the beginning in norway so i'm sorry if i got anything wrong in that aspect!! anyway, hope you enjoy!!

Rygjafylke, Norway — 871 CE

Blood — lots of it; some of it her own, most of it not. The taste of iron coated her tongue, sharp like rust upon an old blade. The sound of it rushed through her — hot, like a pulsating flame with embers that danced upward until they were swallowed by frost, carried away into the vast wintertide, taken somewhere else across the sea.

There, she stood fresh from the eve of battle, victorious once more while she towered before a pile of fallen warriors; the fervor pounded through her like a thousand drums, the music of battle-hungry drengr that cut through their foes like they were no more than meat. Though, perhaps, she had thought, such words were too kind for the likes of such scum; that, at least, meat served purpose as food, but men with likeness to hunting hounds served none but their masters.

The smell of smoke was heavy, paired with the scent of burning straw and wood that lingered behind her; a blaze of orange and black fog spread across the makeshift camps until their trails were dampened by the snow. The flames did naught to ease the chill of the air, for the frost that bit with a malevolent fervor signaled the coming of the new season. The sea-salt of the waters washed upon the shore and filled her lungs with a bitterness that flushed through her with battle-lust and whispered unto her _This day is mine; I am victorious, once more._

“Eivor,” Her name was called, carried by the roar of the cruel wind, weaving through its current until it brought her back down to the shore of the isle, “The crew awaits on the longship; the waters should still long enough for us to be carried back by the wind’s breath toward home.”

Home. Fornburg, where there was bound to be a great feast waiting for those who had spent their day plundering and battling against Kjotve’s foolish men — his ravenous dogs. There, at home, would be plenty of ale and meat, and they would drink and dance until the late hours of the night, when the stars above would decorate the obsidian sky, piercing through the clouds to look down upon them. And Eivor would stand before her fellow warriors, a horn of ale in hand, and she would shout unto them _Another round, my wolves, before Sol rides forth with morning light!_

But, upon her arrival at Fornburg, where the village was enclosed in a case of ice and snow, Eivor was greeted by a familiar face upon the docks; and there she stood, with red hair that twirled about in the winds like a roaring flame and rosy cheeks pinched by the frost.

“Eivor,” Randvi’s voice was a warm greeting, her words melting away in the chill of the wind. There, she stood upon the dock with her arms folded before her chest, loose strands of hair swaying about in the rippling current. She was a thing of beauty, perhaps the fairest of all that Eivor had since seen; and had she not thought better of it, Eivor would have stared a moment longer so that she could remember it better.

It was true that Eivor held the utmost respect for her adopted brother; she valued Sigurd’s opinion and guidance above all those that she knew, for he was to one day become her king, and she would serve beside him until her dying day. Though, she could not tame the wild want she held within her for her truest friend, her brother’s wife, whose voice was sweet like honey and hair like the auburn trees of the south; and Eivor longed for the words that dripped from her tongue to be reserved for her, that Randvi would whisper unto her in the late hours of the night that their fates had been weaved long ago — that it had always been meant to be the two of them together in the end. But a selfish thought it was, indeed, that Eivor could see her brother’s wife in such a way; and she would keep that secret to herself, guarded tight, even when Sigurd was away for long years staking his claim in the lands of the east.

“It is always a pleasure to see you return home unscathed,” Randvi smiled, then teased: “Though, without so much as a scratch on your armor, I wonder how hard you truly fought today, _Wolf-kissed_.”

“If only you fought beside us still, Randvi, perhaps then you would see that my might may not be matched on the battlefield.”

Randvi grinned, “I need not be out there to know such a thing is true, for the might of the gods you possess, dear Eivor,” Then, she gestured toward a smaller boat that had been docked toward the harbor, “I have business in Stavanger. Care to join me, or should I journey alone?”

Eivor frowned, her eyes following the line of warriors that made their way toward the longhouse, merry with thoughts of mead and music dancing about in their heads. “I-"

“Go to your feast, Eivor; you deserve it after your glorious day. There will be plenty other trips to Stavanger,” Randvi walked past Eivor, then paused, glancing back over her shoulder, “Though, I suppose I do not leave Fornburg quite often.”

Eivor sighed, turning to follow behind Randvi as they made their way to the humble boat; and she was quite oblivious to the grin that stretched across Randvi’s face which she was careful to conceal from Eivor’s view. “You’re a good friend, Eivor. We will stop at the alehouse in Stavanger to celebrate your victory — just the two of us.”

“Just the two of us,” Eivor repeated, savoring the words as she was then comforted by her change of plans to accompany her friend. Once they had settled into the small boat and each taken up an oar, they watched as Fornburg disappeared into the horizon behind them, lost within the enclosure of ice that it was housed in. Then, Eivor asked: “What business awaits in Stavanger that a few drinks could not come first?”

“Styrbjorn has requested I pick up a letter there, and he trusts me to do so.”

“It must be important,” Eivor said, “It is good that I came with you, then, should you need protecting from the scum that litter the streets of Stavanger.”

Randvi laughed, “I should like to think that I could hold my own; not so long ago I was out on the battlefield like you, remember,” She grinned, then teased: “These victories have gone to your head, Eivor, for it has swelled twice as big as it was when first we met.”

Eivor shrugged, “I do not shy away from my countless victories, but I am not so foolish that I would underestimate you, old friend. You, among all those that I know, are one of the best — in all ways.”

“I should suspect you are trying to make me blush,” She laughed, “I am a married woman, after all.”

“What?” Eivor’s heart stilled for but a moment; she had laughed in the face of death and swung her axe into the skulls of her enemies more times than she could count, but Randvi’s words left her breathless. But it was then that relief washed over her upon the realization of the humor laced in Randvi’s tone, “You are full of jest today, Randvi.”

“It is a good day,” Randvi smiled as she continued to row, the shore of Stavanger approaching in the distance beyond them, the smoke from chimneys filling the air, “Our drengr proved to be victorious once more, and now I get to leave the village with you.”

“You speak true, friend; it is a good day, indeed,” Eivor grinned to herself while she continued to row, watching as their boat came closer to the silhouette of Stavanger that loomed in the distance.

*

The business in Stavanger did not take long, for the letter was acquired then tucked away in Randvi’s possession. Then, as promised, they ventured to the local alehouse, and sat huddled together by the hearth with a horn of ale; Eivor told tales of the battle from earlier in the day, laughing at one of the cowards who had tried to flee from the battlefield before an axe was thrown into his back from across the way.

Then, the sky was beginning to turn to dusk, the sun setting closer to the horizon, turning the clouds a hue of pink and orange that flushed over the skies of Norway. With that, Eivor and Randvi made their way back toward the docks where their boat awaited them, eager to return to Fornburg to join the feast that was sure to carry on throughout the last hours of the night.

As they walked, a burly drunken man stumbled beside them, then opened his mouth to speak to Randvi, “Not so often — _hic_ — we see a beautiful woman such as you ‘round here,” The man slurred, followed by a string of bubbling hiccups while he stumbled over his feet.

“You ought to mind your tongue,” Randvi spoke, her words harsh as she shoved past the drunken man, who had tried to block her from walking forward, and almost sent him tumbling to the cold ground.

Before he could utter out another word, Eivor grabbed him by the collar of his tunic and stared into his dark eyes, “You know not to who you speak, fool, or else you would know better than to speak to this wife of a future king when you reek of piss and vomit.”

Then, the man stumbled backward before lurching forward to land a punch against Eivor’s jaw, which was followed by him landing violently against the earth; Eivor hovered over him, the toe of her boot pressed into the center of his chest, threatening to stomp down atop him should he utter another nuisance, “I would not start a fight I could not finish, fool.”

Randvi looped her arm through Eivor’s, then, pulling her away from the man, who attempted to spit at Eivor but, instead, had it fall back against his own chin. “Leave him here to lay in his own stench, Eivor, that is punishment enough.”

When they had returned to their boat, Randvi sat beside Eivor and brushed her fingers tenderly against the length of Eivor’s jaw, where the skin had since turned red. “His aim was not bad considering he was certainly seeing double; perhaps we ought to recruit a fighter such as him,” Randvi laughed.

The warmth of Randvi’s fingers was smooth against her jaw, the tender touch of her caress against her skin; she would have sat through the length of wintertide should that mean Randvi would look at her like that forever. But, instead, Eivor turned her head, letting Randvi’s touch fade away, the ghost of it still lingering upon her skin, burning there worse than the injury. “I do not think Sigurd would take too kindly to that when he spoke of his wife in such a way, nor would I.”

Randvi shrugged, “Sigurd would not be around to know,” And there was a trace of bitterness to her tone, and she paused, letting the words she kept stored away fade from her tongue, instead, “He is not around to know most things.”

“Sigurd keeps busy; I do not fault him for that.”

“You do not fault your brother for anything, Eivor,” She said, then reached for the oar to push them away from the dock, a hideous creak following the movement as the boat splashed against the frigid waters, “But he is your brother, not mine.”

“Yet he is your husband,” Eivor spoke, and she knew that it was wrong to have such a thought, but she longed for Randvi to lean toward her and whisper that she wished for it to be otherwise.

Randvi grinned, “Do not think of me as a bitter wife, Eivor,” She laughed, “Have I fallen so far from the battlefield that this is what I have been reduced to? A lonely wife whose husband travels the world, rich with stories from faraway lands I dare not see.”

“Of course not,” Eivor said, and her voice came out quite gentle, which took her by surprise, for it was a foreign sound to hear, “You have never just been a wife, Randvi, and you never will be just a wife.”

Randvi reached out with her free hand, then, and placed it upon Eivor’s knee, and that familiar warmth washed itself over Eivor once more; there, she lingered in that place between comfort and discomfort — of want and knowing that it was wrong to have such thoughts of a woman that had sworn an oath to her brother.

“Sigurd will return home soon,” Eivor cleared her throat, and a very selfish part of her wished that it would be otherwise, that she could have more alone time with Randvi before he returned to Rygjafylke; though, she missed her brother more than anything, and she eagerly waited for his return — to hear the stories of his success on his raids. But, he had been gone for well over a year, now, and she could sense the distance between her friend and brother growing in his absence.

Randvi moved her hand from Eivor’s knee and wrapped her finger’s around Eivor’s, holding their hands in place while they floated through the cold waters of the sea, the sun sinking lower beneath the horizon beyond them. “At least I have you, while he is away. And even when he has returned home, I will always have you, Eivor.”

And Eivor thought, for just a moment — a selfish moment that she lingered in far longer than she should have allowed herself to — what would happen should she reach across the boat and grasp Randvi’s face in her hands, kissing her as if it were her last chance to do so — to kiss her like Ragnarök was upon them, and all other earthly concerns mattered not. And, in that moment, Eivor thought of how Randvi’s skin flushed in the bitter cold; how her hair was of flame against the snow, burning through the icy blight and the bite of the frost that surrounded them. She thought of how it would be should Randvi had been bestowed to her rather than Sigurd, for she knew that she would not leave her own wife at home for years while traveling; that, instead, Randvi would sit beside her, proud upon their longship, and they would sail the open waters toward the lands of the east.

But that was not the way of things, and, instead, they sat upon their boat, carried away by the wintry sea toward home. And by the end of the night, when the last stragglers of the feast had wandered back to their homes, Eivor and Randvi would go to sleep alone.

When they arrived at the docks of Fornburg, Eivor could hear the music cascading from the longhouse, and the candles lit the eventide, like earthly stars littered about the village. And Eivor wished, then, that they had stayed in Stavanger a while longer, that her time alone with Randvi did not have to come to an end so soon — that she could be selfish and have her to her own for the rest of the night.

Then, as if Randvi knew her thoughts as well as she did, she turned to her and said: “Let’s do something about that jaw,” and she gave a smile that was so uniquely hers, that she did not offer to many others.

But Eivor shook her head, that feeling of guilt creeping upon her once again, for thoughts of Sigurd wandered about in her mind. “I will be fine, Randvi; I have suffered far greater wounds than the infliction of a drunken man.”

“Perhaps I want to tend to you,” Randvi smiled, then she winked, “I am just a wife these days, after all.”

 _Sigurd would not be around to know_ , Randvi’s words from earlier repeated in her mind, and Eivor knew that spending time with her brother’s wife was no crime, regardless of her feelings, if she did not act upon them. At the end of the day, they were friends, and had been for quite some time. Without another word — without any further questioning within — she followed behind Randvi until they made it to her home, where a small fire crackled within the hearth, warming the space around them.

“Sit,” Randvi commanded, pointing to a small stool by the hearth, and Eivor did as told without a grumble, because for Randvi she would do just that: whatever she wanted. There were not many people that Eivor would do anything for, but if Randvi so much as suggested she run away with her, they would be on the longship before the night could turn to dawn.

Then, Randvi came toward her with a cloth in hand, and pressed a cool salve against Eivor’s sore jaw, which had since turned a deeper shade of red since leaving the docks of Stavanger, and Randvi said: “Only a fool questions the strength of a drunken man.”

“He was no warrior,” Eivor laughed, “A small man pretending to be large, rather — with the bark of a dog but no bite. His courage comes not from the gods but ale, instead,” Then, Randvi’s fingers flittered tenderly across her jaw, careful as if tending to an injured creature; Eivor looked about her, and the thought entered his mind that she was, indeed, sitting in her brother’s home, feeling the touch of his wife against her skin. “I wonder where Sigurd has traveled.”

“Somewhere far, somewhere to the east; somewhere where there is much silver and hope for our bountiful futures — it is the same each time,” Randvi said, then she dropped the cloth and sat against the edge of the nearest table. And her voice was softer this time while she spoke, “I do not begrudge my husband. I love him; I look upon him as if he is one of the greatest men I will ever know, and I am confident that is true. But sometimes, I do not feel that I am his wife, but rather just like everyone else: looking upon his greatness from below. And when he is away, these thoughts fester in places they should not, but when he is home… It is nice to be in his company, when he has the time to give it to me — when I do not feel as if there is more distance between us than when seas and vast lands keep us apart.”

“You need not explain yourself to me, Randvi,” Eivor said, “You have committed no crime by wishing your husband were home. When Sigurd returns you will see that you stand beside him with equal footing. That you are his and he is yours, for fate wills it.”

“I suppose our paths are weaved,” Randvi agreed, “Though, I often wonder if the threads had been different, where I might have been… with who I would be with.”

“Do not doubt your fate, Randvi,” Eivor said, fighting against the want inside of her that threatened to spill out and say _Perhaps this is the story that has been woven, for you to be with me instead._ Instead, she swallowed the words and instead looked upon her friend to say, “You and Sigurd will share many happy years.”

“Thank you, Eivor,” Randvi whispered, and she caught herself before her voice could falter, and her eyes glanced toward her empty bed while she sighed, “When the mind wanders too far, it is best to rein it back in with nature’s best remedy: ale. Join me for a drink, Eivor, and perhaps a dance, too.”

With that, they made their way toward the longhouse in the center of the village, and the moon was perched high in the dark sky, glistening beneath the wisps of clouds that passed overhead. But, before they entered the longhouse to be lost to the music and drink, Eivor grabbed Randvi by the wrist and said, “You know that you are much more than all of this; you are more than this village, more than Sigurd’s wife.”

Randvi smiled, “Of course,” Then, she stepped toward Eivor, and leaned forward to press a quick kiss against her cheek, warmth spilling from her before she pulled away, “But it is nice to hear you say it.”

Then, Randvi went ahead into the longhouse, her attention immediately captivated by someone tugging at her arm and shoving a horn of ale into her grasp. But Eivor stayed outside for a moment, watching as Randvi began to dance around with the crowd that had gathered about her, and the feeling of her lips was seared into Eivor’s skin.

And there stood Eivor, the Wolf-kissed, the shieldmaiden who fought with the strength of the gods within her, left speechless by the simple brush of lips against her cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading, and i hope you enjoyed!! this was unbeta'd so i'll fix any typos or mistakes as i see them!! but yeah i romanced randvi during my playthrough and i've been wanting to write something for them for about a month now!! i might end up writing more to this and expand it further into the timeline of the game, but for now i gift you this little fic where nothing really happens but a tiny kiss on the cheek. i hope you enjoyed!!


	2. Chapter 2

Rygjafylke, Norway — 872 CE.

The orange sun set in the sky, hoisted there by its remaining slivers of light, cascading tints of color across the dark sea that settled before Fornburg. The gulls squawked in the distance to the rhythmic timing of the gentle waves rolling against the shore beneath the docks. And there, in that moment, there was a flittering peace that sifted through the air, wrapping itself around Eivor as her lungs burned with the fervor of battle-fever. There had not been much time passed since her longship had been docked at home, her crew jovial with jaunty tunes of victory as they had won another scrimmage against Kjotve’s hounds that had been stationed in the south. She had not yet had the chance to clean the blood from her weapons or armor, for she had decided, instead, to sit upon the edge of the longship, her feet dangling close to the crests of the water. In those hours after battle, when she had long since left her rage behind her, she was able to clear her mind — to be grateful that her story had not reached its final thread, just yet.

“Eivor,” Her name was called from behind her, and she felt the warmth pulsate throughout her upon such a sound. And she glanced over her shoulder to see Randvi with one foot propped against the edge of the longship, her cheeks pinched by the frost, and such a sight made Eivor’s heart swell within her. “It is nice to see you return; how we have survived this last week without your guidance is beyond me.”

“I believe you mean my muscle,” Eivor laughed, making her way toward Randvi to stand beside her upon the docks, both looking out through the opening of the fjord into the melting horizon. “I often feel like a workhorse trotting around from this village to the next.”

Randvi grinned, accompanied by an eyeroll, “If that is how you wish to see yourself, poor soul,” Then her face softened, for but a brief moment that was nearly lost, “However I see you as much more than that.”

“Oh?” Eivor asked, trying and failing to mask the crack in her voice. Eivor Wolf-kissed was not one to stumble over her words, to speak with the grace of a foal first trying to stand, but the thoughts whirled about in her mind faster than she could stop them — that, perhaps, Randvi had meant more, that she had laced something hidden in between the lines of her words.

 _She is not for you_ , a voice echoed through her mind, and chilling to the bone, it was, _this is not the way of things_.

“Of course,” Randvi smiled, “Our finest drengr, I would say, is much more than the local errand runner,” Then, she paused for a moment, looking back over her shoulder across the village, toward her own home that sat nestled in the distance, “Eivor, I was wondering if you would like to join me for supper tonight? I have some papers I must approve for Styrbjorn, and I would enjoy the company.”

“Will you be cooking?” Eivor asked, feeling more like herself again, and she scrunched her nose to feign disgust, “The last time I ate your stew, my stomach did not take so kindly to it. I could not sail for three days after.”

Randvi shoved at her shoulder, “You are not so weak as that, Wolf-kissed. I also have mead to persuade you, should the promise of a hearty, warm meal not be enough to lure you to my home.”

“Perhaps that is not needed,” Eivor began, unable to stop herself as the words spilled from her tongue, “That I would dine with you simply because I wish to spend my evening with you.”

The words had slipped from her mouth before she could catch them and pull them back inside — before she could lock them away and store them somewhere just for herself. And she had not remembered closing her eyes for a moment after she spoke, but when she opened them she had expected to find herself standing alone, Randvi gone before any other mistakes could be made.

But, there Randvi stood, with a sly grin spread across her face, arms folded before her chest. “Eivor, Eivor. A way with words you have, indeed,” She _tsked_ , then laughed, and wrapped her fingers around Eivor’s wrist, guiding her down the pathway behind them. “Come! The stew should be ready soon and light is wasting away before us.”

The warmth from Randvi’s touch, her calloused fingers curled against the exposed skin of Eivor’s wrist, traveled up her arm like a trail of flames until it settled in her chest and burned there. And she watched while Randvi walked before her, her hair tousled by the evening winds, slowly coming undone from the wrapping she had weaved into her braid.

Sigurd had been gone for almost two years now, and in that moment, Eivor was not sure she would notice should two more pass until he returned. It was a selfish thought that festered within her, that picked at her like ravenous crows, but she could not deny the want that coursed through her — especially not as Randvi pulled her through the door of her humble home, into the warmth the filled the space. And she could not stop herself from imagining stepping toward her, grabbing the sides of her face and kissing her there in the threshold as if it mattered not that Sigurd’s longship was due to return to Norway in the coming weeks — that it would be their secret that they would guard like a precious jewel, and no one else would ever have to know.

“Where are you?” Randvi asked, her gaze curious while her mouth pressed into a soft line; her eyes lingered across Eivor, soft and wondering, watchful and patient.

Eivor snapped out of her trance, bringing herself back into the moment where the fire crackled and poured dim light amongst them, “I am here, with you.”

“I would have thought you elsewhere, with that look in your eye.”

“There is nowhere else I would rather be.”

Randvi laughed, then walked past Eivor to hover over the small stew pot that hung above the hearth in the center of her home. “There is lots of land out there, Eivor — vast lands of green that go on forever, so I have heard… That is where I would rather be, sometimes.”

 _Say the word, and we will go,_ Eivor thought, _I will take you anywhere you wish to see_.

“I am one for home,” Eivor said, “Where I know the land better than the back of my own hand, for my feet have etched themselves into it often, wearing down the soles of my boots. Where the cold air fills my lungs after a fight, and I can look out across the sea and know that I am right where I belong.”

“Spoken like a true skald,” Randvi chuckled, more to herself than not, “Perhaps the life of a drengr is not so suited to your talents, it seems. You could stand tall in the courts, weaving tales that would impress Odin himself.”

“To spend my days idling amongst kings? You have never been more mistaken, friend.”

“Perhaps so; I would not dream of you any other way,” Randvi said, and it was then that the lack of space between them had become obvious; that, if Eivor had wanted, she could reach out and touch Randvi, bring her even closer toward her. And she thought that, for a moment, Randvi must have felt it, too, that her eyes pleaded for something that she could not have — that she wanted all the long.

But Randvi backed away, stirring the ladle in the stewpot, “I believe it is ready; if you fall ill that will be on you, not my stew.”

So, they ate, laughing together in between mouthfuls of stew and recounting the days of old when they both sought glory on the battlefield like hungry wolves. And it was true that Eivor was a shieldmaiden before all else — that she had carved her way through the world with the blade of axe and did not think twice before she swung it toward her enemies — but in the moments in between, where she sat beside the crackling hearth with her truest friend, she thought that glory could be found in smaller places, too. That, perhaps, it was not want but rather love that coursed through her each time that Randvi’s hand brushed against her own, and that was quite a revelation to make while sitting in the comfort of her brother’s home while he was long since away.

It had not been long after they finished the stew that they had broken into the mead, gulping down full horns as if a crowd had gathered about them to keep score, voiceless chants encouraging them to drink more. And after the last _Skol!_ Eivor felt the slur in her voice, and the room had begun to spin, clouding her mind.

“I believe we have had enough,” Eivor laughed, steadying her arm beside her to catch herself before she toppled over onto the floor, “You are quite the drinking partner, old friend.”

Randvi sat before her, a strange look in her eye while she kept her gaze taut upon Eivor, as if she was determined to not let her out of her sight; and even through the veil of mead that fogged her thoughts, Eivor could feel the gnawing discomfort that chewed at her, that she had made a mistake in accepting the supper invitation. Yet, all things aside she did not pull back when Randvi moved closer, her eyes intent on what they wanted, while she reached out and placed her palm against the rough skin of Eivor’s cheek.

“Look at you,” She whispered, as if she had meant it for herself, rather, “Eivor, Wolf-kissed, you are here with me.”

The lump in Eivor’s throat grew, but she did not pull back despite it, “I am,” She reached up to place her own hand atop Randvi’s, wishing that she could hold her in place there forever. And her vision swirled about, the words coming out of her mouth without once stopping to consider them and their weight, “I will be wherever you wish me to be.”

“With me, always,” Randvi said, and she let her hand trace the length of Eivor’s jaw until her touch faltered, her hands falling back into her lap. “We have had too much to drink.”

Eivor laughed, though she was left with quite an empty feeling, the shadow of Randvi’s touch against her skin. “Indeed, we have,” Then, she stood, stumbling forward before standing as straight as her body would allow, “I ought to leave, before we see the morning sun rise.”

Randvi nodded, “I agree,” And she stood, looking at Eivor through her own drunken haze, “Thank you, for being with me. You are… a good friend.”

 _But a good sister, I am not_. She thought, before she nodded in silence, for there were no other words left to be said that she could stomach. With that, she stumbled her way out of Randvi’s home, through the darkened pathways of the village beneath the pale light of the moon, and fell against the furs on her bed, remembering how it was to have Randvi look into her eyes with her hand pressed against her face; and the touch still burned there, like it had been branded into her skin, and she did not mind the lingering ache.

*

Cold — like the mists of Niflheimr that seeped in like a fog that spread throughout her being. And it froze in her veins, chilling down her spine like the breath of wintertide had brushed against her skin. She thought of the thick snow that had circulated around her with a gnashing bite that nipped at her, binding her within a thick wall of ice; she thought of Sigurd, who stood at the edge of a bottomless cliff, cradling his severed arm before his chest; and she thought of Fenrir, who towered before her with gnarled fangs and a hatred that burned throughout her — as if she had felt that wrath long ago. And when she had awoken in Valka’s hut, there was not much comfort to be gained from visions that promised she would one day betray her brother, the man that she respected above all others — the one that she would follow into the depths of darkness, even if she knew that she would not return. It had been once told that Odin fought against his own fate, and she knew that she could do the same, that a new stitching could be weaved into the story of her fate.

It was not so long after that the horn had blown to signal Sigurd was returning from his voyage, that his longship had docked in Fornburg, home once more after so many months away. And what a sight it was, indeed, to see her brother standing upon the docks, to be relieved that their kingdom would, once again, fall into good hands should it need them.

The hours after passed and were filled with an abundance of emotions — curiosity, amazement, confusion, to name a few — and the evening came and went as quickly as it had begun. And now, after two years that had passed both too soon and not soon enough, Sigurd had returned to Norway; and, after two long winters, he had been reunited with his wife.

Yet, such a thought did not cross Eivor’s mind until later, when the events of the day had come to pass, after Sigurd had gone his own way to celebrate through the remaining hours of the night with a horn of ale in his grasp. That night, the stars were bright in the sky, glistening like silver coins had been tossed up into the grand well, shining down upon them with newfound mirth. And as she often did, Eivor found herself drawn toward Randvi, who she had not seen much in the last couple of weeks before Sigurd’s return — perhaps it was the guilt that swelled within her that the fantasy she lived would soon come to an end, or simply that she had made more advancements in finding Kjotve and his men. But there in the village, she found Randvi, sitting alone away from the crowd that had occupied themselves with dance and mead — a celebration for their beloved future king who had returned to them well, once more, as they knew he would.

Eivor took her place beside Randvi, the cold wind wrapping itself about them while the tune from music and wayward singing wafted from the longhouse, “I thought I might find you celebrating; you are no longer alone.”

“I never was,” She turned to glance at Eivor, her smile soft, “I thought it best to let Sigurd have his time, and I did have my share of mead, mind you.”

Eivor laughed, “That I do not doubt, friend,” Then, she looked out across the dark waters in the distance that spilled out through the opening of the fjord, “It has been a long day, and I do not see it ending just yet. I do not know what to make of… all this,” Her fingers traced against the new blade upon her wrist, her gift from Sigurd’s travels. There was a strange thing about all of it, one that she could not make much sense of, but sitting beside Randvi after the day that she had, none of it seemed to matter.

“Sigurd seems… occupied, like his mind has found him elsewhere,” Randvi said, “He is the same as he left us, but also different, in a way. But it will all settle in time, I know. For now, it will just be different until it is not.”

“I am glad that Sigurd has returned, for I fear our king would lose us without his guidance, without his strength. But there is something that unsettles, whether it is the tensions in the kingdom or Styrbjorn’s lack of willingness, I do not know… And now Sigurd has come with a new shadow — these men that he has brought back with him from Mikelgard, he said.”

“And what do you make of these men,” Randvi asked, her voice turned low, as if one of them may have been lurking in the shadows among them, “I saw you with them, with Sigurd. The younger one seemed offended by this place, in some way.”

“Hytham,” Eivor chuckled, “He is protective of his brotherhood — of his secrets that I hardly wish to know. And his mentor, Basim, I know not what to make of him. It is all strange to me, what Sigurd has brought back to us.”

Randvi sighed, “He has spoken to you more than me since his return, so I know less than you of these matters… I wonder how long these men intend to stay in Norway; if Sigurd has brought them as guests or something more.”

“They are far from home,” Eivor said, “And I do not quite understand their purpose; they hold their tongues with care. But Sigurd trusts them; he and Basim seem to have an understanding of something that is beyond me. And if that is enough for Sigurd, then it is enough for me.”

Randvi smiled, “Loyal to the end, dear Eivor; your devotion to your brother is admiring. He is quite lucky to have you, as am I…” Her words faltered off then, floating away into the frost of the night. Then, she pointed to Eivor’s wrist, “I noticed your new accessory. Those men wear them, too, I saw, but the opposite way. Do you think you’ll find yourself entangled in their brotherhood, playing workhorse as you like to say?”

“I belong to nothing but our people,” Eivor said, “I wear this because it is a gift, and if these men have plans that should involve me, I would aid them — should that be what Sigurd wills.”

The silence settled about them, then, filling in the spaces between them save for the noises that trailed from the longhouse. When the song from inside came to an end, Randvi spoke once more: “It feels quite different as of late; there is a new wave turning upon our shore,” She smiled and reached out to link her forefinger around Eivor’s. And in the dark, Eivor wondered if anyone could see while they walked past, and what they would think should they see such a thing — such a little gesture that should not have meant anything at all, but the touch felt heavy against her. “I can feel it in the air; it is thick, and it whispers to me that, in the end, we will thrive, our Raven-clan; but we are stirring amid something new. Do you feel it, too, Eivor?”

And there was a part of Eivor that longed to say _Let us forge a new path; run away with me. Just the two of us._

Instead, she looked upon her finger, their fingers still entwined as they sat beneath the glistening light of the midnight moon, and she said, “I feel it too. We are destined for greatness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! i wasn't sure i was going to continue this story after the first chapter, but i've had a bit of this written for a while now and really wanted to do something with it. i would really like to continue this into the england mainstory and actually have something happen between eivor and randvi. but for now i'm leaving it as completed just in case i don't do that lol. but anyway i hope you enjoyed this chapter!! <3


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